Mirai
by PallaPlease
Summary: Lobo/Anita.  If Apokolips had won.  [Complete?]


Mirai  
  
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Author's Notes: This is what happens when I watch episode 06 of ReBoot Season IV, then watch "A Life Less Ordinary," and stare at pictures on Meg-sama's webpage. :[ I get brain-dead on "Legacy" (although I do know Bart's going to be a kindergarten teacher…not sure why) and then I get inspired by pics from "YJ: Worlds At War #1" even though I haven't read it, nor own it. I need help. 0o; …Wait! My brain is working!…Oh, no, false alarm.  
  
Suggestion: Stare at this fanfic, for rarely will you read something so under-developed and choppily experimental as this.  
  
Disclaimer: …Must I say anything at all?  
  
State of Fic: One-shot. THIS IS A ONE-SHOT. And that sentence broke the a/an rule. :] [Sequel?]  
  
Idea: This is a sort of "what if?" fic set in the AU future of "YJ: WAW #1" when all of YJ are grown-ups and fighting against something evil - except for Impulse. This isn't an Impulse-centric fic like "Legacy" is [for this, it would have been a "What happened to Bart?" sort of thing]; it's more Lobo/Anita than anything else. [What other reason would Lobo have for staying on Earth? I mean…ugh. I hate summaries.]  
  
Little Note: 'Mirai' is Japanese for future. Just so you'd know. *&.^*  
  
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Depending on truth until the day we die.  
~"Rain," by the Corrs  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Storm's coming," Empress said softly, voice filled with a weary emotion. "The Parademons will be rising soon." The sky above was already a misty grey shade and a tiny droplet of rain plummeted onto her gloved hand, darkening the royal color almost imperceptibly. She narrowed her eyes, facial expression hidden by the cloth mask hooking completely over her face. Leaning back from her crouching position, she rested her arms across her thighs, studying the sky critically. The odd raindrop fell every once in a while, the space of time between each droplet shortening just a bit each time. Faint dust clouds could be seen on the horizon; she almost hoped it was merely one of a rare few dust storms, but her war-honed instincts told her otherwise. Parademons. And, if they were unlucky, Streak. A wave of angry nausea rippled through her abdomen and she forced it down, fluidly standing up, arms falling by her sides. Turning on her heel, she half-jogged to the top of the hill - or, rather, the towering pile of ashy rubble stretching out abstractly. "Time to go," she spoke, leaping nimbly onto the back of the intimidating Cycle.  
  
"'Bout time," Lobo grunted, throwing the vehicle into motion as soon as Empress had a grip around his waist. "So, what'd ya see?"   
  
"Parademons," she answered shortly, long, thin ruby-brown braid streaming back over her shoulder. "Looked like at least three legions, judging by the size of the dust cloud." A brief silence formed, hanging overhead dangerously. A heartbeat passed. "Think Streak will be with them?"  
  
"No clue," came the reply, a harsh sort of growl following, in the shape of words: "But if he is with 'em, he better watch 'is back. I owe th' asshole a decent--"  
  
"Fragging?" Empress cut in lightly, tone almost teasing, but not quite. His response was a snort. She knew not to take it seriously.  
  
  
  
  
The recycled air of the Watchtower was a refreshing change from the unnatural heat down on the surface; cool and circulating, it gave a sort of rejuvenating feeling to her. Peeling her mask off, Anita Fite absently traced the jagged, wavering scar that trailed from her earlobe down to her chin. It was close to invisible against her mahogany skin: a far cry from its once brilliant pink color. A gift from Streak, twenty years ago. Tossing the now formless piece of cloth to the gleaming metal table by the head of her thin bed, she strode into the tiny walk-in bathroom connected to her bedchambers, looked, hard, into the mirror. Tried to see if there was any of her child self remaining. Smiled a little at her reflection, fingering at the clumps of dirt clinging to her tightly bound hair. She edged the door shut, locking it so that she was alone in the absurdly small bathroom.  
  
"It's been a long time since I've actually thought about things," she announced suddenly, voice quiet. She held her violet eyes even with the mirror. "I guess I haven't talked with myself in a while." She turned her chin up, hands gripping the sink's counter as she looked at the cold metal ceiling. "Feels strange, now, to even have time to relax. I only have five minutes, though: Lobo and I have to take 6A-3 sector. Parademon troops are coming." A bitter laugh broke out from her lips, hovering painfully in the air before slowly fading, dying. "Lobo and I."  
  
She paused for a moment, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, as if trying to learn some important secret it needed to tell her. "Yes," she finally said, slowly, "Lobo and I." A smile quirked at the corners of her mouth. "Twenty years ago, if somebody how much time we'd be spending together, I'd have laughed." Anita relapsed into silence, then rolled her eyes. "Correction: I'd have screamed and had nightmares for a week." Something in that struck her as being funny and she laughed shortly, leaning back away from the counter and crossing her arms over her chest, closing her eyes briefly. "There's quite a few regrets floating around inside me, now," she sighed, the spontaneous levity dissipating sadly.  
  
"I wondered, once, what it would be like if I hadn't been so caught up in the urgency of the now. Caught up in the fact that he was most definitely -not- Prince Charming and still isn't." She drew a breath in silently, exhaled with a gradual whoosh. Somewhere, a ways off, she could hear faint echoes of light footsteps, hear Tim and Secret arguing quietly about something or other. They were drawing nearer, as far as she could tell, and she was able to recognize them stopping near her door. She still couldn't make out what they were saying; whatever it was, it was obscured both by soft voices, and the air conditioning's idle hum. Straightening herself up, Anita tucked a curling strand of her bronze hair behind her smooth ear, avoiding the scar.   
  
Exiting the bathroom, she snatched her mask up off the sheets, tucking it in the crook of her arm. She tugged on her gloves, removing folds in the rich maroon cloth, and walked with the smooth gait suitable for her other identity, leaving her small chambers. With a brilliant smile at the two leaders of their resistance group, Anita bowed her head respectfully, then, with a sudden chilling purpose, cleaned her face of any emotion, turning so her back was to both the former Robin and the eerie young woman: the two that had served as leaders in the wake of the complete destruction, in the invasion that had followed. "Be seeing you," she said over her shoulder, cheerfully, and she vanished in a bright cloud of whispering azure smoke, hints of sea green wafting in and out of the flashing color.  
  
  
  
  
A gritty crunch sound emanated from the thin layer of ash permeating the entire rooftop, thick cracks stretching from one corner of the building to another, lacing over other, smaller cracks, as Lobo casually swung himself off the Cycle, blood-red eyes focused critically on the dust cloud drawing nearer. "They're covering a lotta ground, 'Nita," he tilted his head to one side, a slightly disappointed look on his alabaster face. "But they ain't too close yet."  
  
"And here we are, with nothing to do but wait," Empress rolled her eyes, drawing her knees up to her chest as she perched herself on the massive motorbike. "So sorry to burst your bubble, lover, but it's going to be a while before they get close enough for combat." A shudder quivered around her shoulders, involuntarily, and she tried to quell the uncomfortable, unwanted feeling of primitive dread. She'd come so close, once, to being killed by the Parademons, and all because she hadn't been paying attention to her whereabouts. "Thank God," she whispered, subtly, to herself, trying to avoid thoughts of the virtually unending warriors.  
  
"Then," Lobo said simply, a grin spreading across his whiskered face, "let's go take th' battle to them bastiches."  
  
"No," she replied sharply, too quickly. In an attempt to recover, she grasped at the nearest kernel of truth that wouldn't reveal any of her fear. "That is to say," she smiled disarmingly, "Tim won't like it if we abandon our posts."  
  
"Oh, and we would never want t' ruin th' Bird-boy's wonderful life." It was the Czarnian's turn to roll his eyes. "So, what do we do 'til they get here?" His tone was already bored; he knew what was coming and still didn't like it.  
  
Empress shrugged. "What we always do," she said mildly: "Wait." It wasn't long until Lobo started pacing, constantly checking and rechecking his gun. With nothing better to do, she followed him with her eyes, the antsy feeling in her gut growing stronger and more frenetic at his pointless motions. Finally, she burst: "Will you stop that? You're driving me nuts."  
  
If had been anyone other than his beloved 'Nita all but ordering him around, he would most likely have turned and proceeded to frag the other person straight to whatever afterlife they were destined for. Anyone aside from her, of course.   
  
Stopping his pacing, he tossed his gun to the cement, leaning back against the handlebars of the Cycle. Empress smiled, tousling his spiky dark hair affectionately. He, in turn, caught her hand and kissed the gloved knuckles swiftly, releasing her wrist in the same movement.   
  
"You need to shave," she said thoughtfully, resting her cheek against his shoulder and letting him play with her braid. There was no answer for a few minutes and she pulled away, looking him straight in the eye. "I'm serious," she told him. "At least get rid of the mustache. I refuse to engage in any physical contact until you get rid of it."  
  
"No."  
  
Empress stuck her tongue out and hooked her mask up and over her face, hiding the sly smile curving her lips. "We'll see," she laughed, crossing her legs in front of her, eyes focusing across at the hordes fast approaching. "We'll see."  
  
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Well. That was…strange. And short. Very short. And very pointless. And…my brain is beginning to hurt. Darn! Think I need to go work on "Legacy" in a bit. Oi. Please, someone tell me that wasn't as stupid as I think it was…  
  
PallaPlease.  
(Only 12 more days, and then the insanity of my writing-way-too-many-YJ-mushy-fanfics rush kicks in. Prepare yourselves for bombardment. Woo-hoo!)  
  
Quote of the Moment~  
"It's stuck in my head!!!!"  
~We're doing puppet theatre in Theatre I and my group did a talent show. One of our character's 'sang' a catchy little song by a rap artist. (Song goes something likes this: "Money can't buy me happiness, but I'm happiest when I can buy what I want, buy what I want…" The song is called "Money.") Oh, heavens, how I hate that song. It was stuck in my head for FOUR DAYS STRAIGHT. And it's still repeating in my head. Darn you, Andy, and your choice of music! ARGH!! (Why can't anybody choose Frank Sinatra, or Chicago, or Smash Mouth for once? Why rap? Why Britney Spears? Although that country song "Heartland" WAS a pretty good choice…) 


End file.
